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H.G. Wells

The crisis of today is the joke of tomorrow.

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Considerd The Joke

If I was the one who had been considerd the joke,
Why am I the only one that is laughing?
Has it been discovered,
That my sense of humor matters too?
And there is nothing like a good laugh,
That I can sit back and enjoy!

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If the joke's at your expense

If the joke's at your expense... don't ask for the bill
Take the blows smiling... and then go for the kill!
Sarcasm screaming loud...outta my head
Laugh's cruel acid rain... Leaves mind dead
When a smile turns to smirk
It gets too bloody dark
Dark humor, Devil's grin
Tranquility of liquid sin
At times, you know, smiles can make
One Cry and break High hopes, STILL make
You, the butt of all jokes that they crack

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Considered The Joke Too!

I'd just want to say...
Your spelling of 'considered',
Had been done in an incorrect way.
And...
I wish to point that out,
To bring it to your attention...
You have nothing to really,
Laugh that loud about.

'You can not be serious? '

I am.
I've been assigned to correct your flaws.
And your unconscious blemishes.

'Had you thought you were being used.
And considered the joke too? '

Not really.
I am known to be the master of correctness.

'You must be 'half-way' out of the house? '

Why do you point to your head?

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Today - the Yesterday of Tomorrow

today is the yesterday
of tomorrow
today is also the tomorrow
of yesterday

yesterday was the today
of the then tomorrow

tomorrow which is the now today
is the tomorrow of yesterday

what is yesterday's yesterday?
what is the today of today?

what will be the tomorrow of tomorrow?

yesterday made today
today is creating tomorrow
the now today will be the
yesterday of the incoming tomorrow
and that tomorrow will become today

but tomorrow is yet unknown


for there is no today without yesterday
and no yesterday without today

but tomorrow will be unknown


from wired thoughts
marchanism.com

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The Joke's On Me

The old days were no fun
Im not sorry that they're gone
I don't miss them and I won't miss them
and it was always wrong
Everything I've ever done
From the beginning and to the ending
and things never got better, it seems like forever
Since we had fun or maybe I never have fun
And this whole time! I've been around
One minute up!
and a hundred down uhhh ohhh
Keep on laughing, Keep attacking
I'll show you what it means
To keep on lying, Keep denying
That there's nothing good in me
I'm not worthless, I know you heard this
My life's a joke and the joke's on me
The joke's on me
You were always lame, a headache and a pain
I don't miss you and I won't miss you
I tried not to get bitter but I was such a quitter
Oh yeah I had dreams but they were only ever bad dreams
And this whole time! I've been around
One minute up!
and a hundred down uhhh ohhh
Keep on laughing, Keep attacking
I'll show you what it means
To keep on lying, Keep denying
That there's nothing good in me
I'm not worthless, I know you heard this
My life's a joke and the joke's on me
The joke's on me, The joke's on me...
Well there never were any good old days
Looking back I'm still amazed
How everything went wrong in every way
There were no good old days
Well there never were any good old days
Looking back I'm still amazed
That everything went wrong in every way
There were no good old days
[2x]
And this whole time! I've been around
One minute up!
and a hundred down uhhh ohhh
Keep on laughing, Keep attacking
I'll show you what it means
To keep on lying, Keep denying
That there's nothing good in me
I'm not worthless, I know you heard this
My life's a joke and the joke's on me...

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Where Dispose Of The Joke Of Bones - Minimalist Cryptics Sometimes Metaphysical, circa 1981

.
For two:

Agnes Martin, American artist,
minimalist painter extraordinaire

Elaine Bellezza, artist, too,
and traveler,
and early Anima-as-Fate,
and 'eye giver'


'Is that dance slowing in the mind of man
that made him think the universe could hum? ' - Theodore Roethke


1

off the square
in the darkest cell
where darkness is at its deepest -

some sense of home

those forms bursting forth

2

seal us in
ascetic fire -

and the cave become a dissonance
the lament on your face of saffron reddening

3

but the grids never are
little girls jumping rope

challenge circle words,

the self of rings

like a brown back

the empty form goes

extends outward


yet these words do not contain you

4

you have an 'element'

the word is ugly too
dearer than a son
cut cut cut out
the heart that lies

walking seems to cover time

the summit is rounded

outline of a foot on a rock

5

you speak in circles
though loving squares

when I cover squares clad in ashes
are all questions then mother of pearl

6

the pilaster speaks
loudly of days

dearer than wealth
the silence on the floor

7

discover the last image

how skim the ocean of brine
you wear on your face
that gray weight


die for more

this is life

8

the plain can do almost
nothing but weep

to turn my eyes away
destroys its power

the untamed fire

9

between the rain
whose throat is blue
like a wild fern is clear

I am sad when I see you

10

your letters arrive fat
swollen with human form

they fly out from my palms

look around you

11

mind now
mistaken

dying flowers
not traceable

instead -

believe the sky is not so wide

it reaches forward

(let us pass)

it is a far cry

is pervasive

get rid of everything

only see in me a part

12

tell me now
glass-handled knives
I'm not clear where we started

13

the pagoda and the spire
poke the eye
I once understood you as
articulate who couldn't stand

now knowledge is less and less to

me

and a clear mind -


the rose
are squared

white edge
of the world

ugly

sitting in
snow

14

where dispose of the joke of bones

one must feel the forms
bursting in the tranquil shade
the reality of virtual form
sitting in said snow

the beat of a wing we grieve
certain words repeating -

the world 'ugly'

and just is the 'plain'


what becomes of skin

what becomes of a lotus petal


it tears apart

15

believe the streets are blistering

Nature is the wheel

settle for less

some sense of home


those forms bursting forth

between the rain

whose throat is blue

like a wild fern is clear


they fly out from my palms


look around you

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The History Of Tomorrow

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of light
By dumping us in the dark with pits everywhere

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of food
By asking us to chop several fire-woods to heat up a pot full of stones

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of job creation
By making us slaves on our own soil

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of education
By dumping us in dilapidated buildings without teachers

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of accountability
By looting our treasury and asking us for yet another term in office

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of safety
By leaving pot holes large enough to swallow countless accident victims on our roads

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our bows and arrows
Would secure our future

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of a country, a country with countless heroes
It’s the history of a country, a country with countless robbers
Robbers with fame
Robbers without shame
Robbers that we would roast with flame

© Adegbenro Adekunle Jacob

Tomorrow’s history is today. All world leaders must make real democracy work. They must be selfless. We must not wait until there is horror and terror before we learn. Nigerian leaders must shun CORRUPTION.

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The sound of tomorrow

The sound of tomorrow
Calling, calling
It’s still distant
But felt closer

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The day after tomorrow

The day after tomorrow
Is 48 hours
Too soon?
Inorder to meet and
Devise a plan
For what we need to do
The day after tomorrow, somewhere
About high noon
We shall meet
Face to face, and peacefully
Share our views

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It Shall Become The Hit Song Tomorrow

you abandon a love song
it hangs on the bus
as you leave home
seeking for greener pastures
out there

lonely

no one picks it up
to take it home
or even
to just whistle it
for the meantime

you will
soon regret


that song
shall become the hit song
tomorrow

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The Day After Tomorrow

his clothes smell like Tuesday
on a Friday afternoon;
he bums a smoke, a light,

and looks away.
the lines in his face, jaw set,
like a map to where

he cant quite remember.
he watches the smoke
curl up like infidel prayers

lost on a street corner,
to the lights and the noise.
dont look too close!

you might find your self
staring back at you
from the day after tomorrow!

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The Scars of Tomorrow

The scars of tomorrow
are now to be carved
for these stones on my road
are piled up high to the stars.

Thus a head wind named fate
can bare me to stay the course
can fling every single stone
into my torn and tortured soul.

He’s intended to lead me astray,
but on this path I won’t stray!

So may a thousand stones be thrown by fate
as such may hurt, wound and rage,
on my path I won't abide in sorrow
for every wound will cure and heal
to the scars of tomorrow

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The children of tomorrow

The children of tomorrow
They are looking on for peace and hope
They keep fixing the damage and the wars we had made.

The children of tomorrow
They are prying to god for all of the good things
They want this mess that we cause to be fixed

The children of tomorrow
They are on the floor bring knowing that they no hope
They had lost the fight to get this problem that we had made.

The children of tomorrow
They are gone carry on for us
That is why we should think do we want this for them

The children of tomorrow

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The Silence of Tomorrow

Unyielding is the sword of dark sorrows,
That eviscerates the youth of innocence
From a world that cradles them with comfort,
And leaves them within a forest of pain
With trees that swallow their soul. Their innocence, replaced by decayed maturity,
They shed tears of blood
That feeds the soil
By which this forest is deeply rooted. So full of:
Fear,
Hatred,
Loneliness,
Resentment,
Anger
From paradise lost,
Their hearts burn with flames
That consume it to blackened ashes. Cast aside from the world they once did know,
Their cries echo & reverberate without sound;
And as they fall from the weight of grief
So set upon their youthful shoulders,
They come to rest on a bed of morosity...
Lulled to sleep by the silence of tomorrow.

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The Treasures Of Tomorrow

All the treasures of tomorrow are destined yet to be,
Where no rogues can beg or borrow their future legacy!
A billion kisses still concealed though earnest lips still pine!
A billion smiles will be revealed in the fulness of time!
Don't hold your breath impatiently! God's mind will not be changed!
Although you feel uncertainty, all things have been arranged!
Romance awaits the chosen few and though not all are told,
God's angels sometimes give a clue so true love will unfold!
I envy all the happy hearts tomorrow will enchant -
Although love comes in stops-n-starts who knows what it will grant?
Tomorrow some men will propose with diamond rings, no less!
With fervent prayers as fondness grows - and dreams of happiness!
One day, who knows? I might ask, too! All sighs on bended knee!
Apart from saying, 'I love you! ' no treasures will I see...

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The Joke At Golgotha

try going to golgotha
and see
if you can find a joke there

try your wits and humour
on skulls
and carcass
and crosses and
crucifixions


yes the carcass
funny
you can see her ass.


(ha ha ha)

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On the Day My Father Died

On the day my father died
I should have been laughing
It was April fools’
But the joke was too dear
Usually it would be a quip
And we would roar
In bogus laughter
Today it was an eternal slumber
And we had to hush hush
Patrick would not
Sing of old roger now
The lyric would sting
Nicolas would not play ball
No one would cheer
Look at mama sitting
Like the world has closed
Soon her head would be shaved
And the accusers
Would come to say
She killed her spouse
Mama would then hold her breasts
Like a horrified penitent
And in tears forcibly invited
Say it was untrue
The mourners would cry bitterly
But when the food was ready
They would pause and
Demand a chicken
Before wailing louder
To show their despair
This April fools’ is dramatic
And even now I
Am undecided
On whether I should still laugh
Or cry my heart out.

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Today's the Day

Perhaps today's the day that I break free
Free from the hustle that comes each day
Free from distractions that lead me astray
Perhaps I can be what I'm made to be

Perhaps today's the day I'll choose to move
Move beyond the past into tomorrow
Move with purpose in the way I should go
Perhaps I'll believe I've nothing to prove

Perhaps today's the day I'll find my peace
Peace like a stream flowing fresh to my soul
Peace that brings new meaning and makes me whole
Perhaps that assurance will never cease

Perhaps today's the day I'll hear Your voice
So clearly that my heart will have no choice

If today's the day I'm finally free
May I be free to run and tell the world
With Your banner of love proudly unfurled
For today's the day You have set me free

If today's the day I finally move
May I move boldly toward holy life
Allowing You to guide me through the strife
As I dance for joy for You've made me move

And, if today's the day I find Your peace
May I promote that peace to all I meet
Living in peace and loving those I greet
As I gratefully give others Your peace

If today's the day I will hear Your voice
May I know it and may my heart rejoice

((March 7th,2010))

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Robert Graves

The Next War

You young friskies who today
Jump and fight in Father’s hay
With bows and arrows and wooden spears,
Playing at Royal Welch Fusiliers,
Happy though these hours you spend,
Have they warned you how games end?
Boys, from the first time you prod
And thrust with spears of curtain-rod,
From the first time you tear and slash
Your long-bows from the garden ash,
Or fit your shaft with a blue jay feather,
Binding the split tops together,
From that same hour by fate you’re bound
As champions of this stony ground,
Loyal and true in everything,
To serve your Army and your King,
Prepared to starve and sweat and die
Under some fierce foreign sky,
If only to keep safe those joys
That belong to British boys,
To keep young Prussians from the soft
Scented hay of father’s loft,
And stop young Slavs from cutting bows
And bendy spears from Welsh hedgerows.
Another War soon gets begun,
A dirtier, a more glorious one;
Then, boys, you’ll have to play, all in;
It’s the cruellest team will win.
So hold your nose against the stink
And never stop too long to think.
Wars don’t change except in name;
The next one must go just the same,
And new foul tricks unguessed before
Will win and justify this War.
Kaisers and Czars will strut the stage
Once more with pomp and greed and rage;
Courtly ministers will stop
At home and fight to the last drop;
By the million men will die
In some new horrible agony;
And children here will thrust and poke,
Shoot and die, and laugh at the joke,
With bows and arrows and wooden spears,
Playing at Royal Welch Fusiliers.

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Patrick White

The Rain's Falling Upwards

The rain's falling upward
and I'm rooted in the clouds.
I'm riffing with the greening of my leaves
without a flute, letting my thoughts grow
like musical serpents each
according to their need.
It's the snake's turn to charm me,
to entangle me in its form
like forbidden fruit
swaying from my highest boughs.
In the chalky, moist grey air
I'm scraping my fingernails
down a blackboard like crows
because my desires are vaguely out of reach
and my mind is a teacher with nothing to teach.
I want nothing more
than the freedom of my own humanity
thumbing its own heart
like a well-read book
or a worn guitar I taught myself to play
when no one else was around
to hear the sound of one hand clapping.
If my mind brings forth an abyss
like a vast womb where there's only room
for my solitude
I'll slip into it
under the reflection of the moon
on the unwitnessed side of my eyelids
without abandoning the boat of my body
and drift like stars across the timeless spaces
of anywhere the light doesn't taste like physics.
Being is Knowing. I don't need a web
to prove I'm a spider
and I don't need a constellation
to shine out like a star
when I'm not being humbled
by the blind insignificance of it all.
Even when I mean bees and earthworms
too often my voice
is an urn full of dead fireflies.
Yesterday's astonishment before the stars
in the open-mouthed fields
comes down today
like chandeliers of mystic trivia
on a scarecrow who lets the birds
in on the joke
that everytime he begins to burn
in his fireless martyrdom
his tears fall like an ice storm
to put him out.
But I don't always want
wisdom oozing out of everything
like the sententious candle
of its own enlightenment
even if I am wounded by the compassion of it.
Sometimes I am content with the futility of things
just as they are.

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